


Gods of Lowtown

by beng



Series: Gods of Lowtown [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Fantastic Racism, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Multi, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Rivaini seer Heimdall, Teyrn Thor, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, all tags will evolve, blood mage Loki, half-elf Loki, ok not really gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/pseuds/beng
Summary: Asgard is a prosperous, large teyrnir within the Kingdom of Ferelden, with Lothering as its centre. When Teyrn Odin's eldest daughter turns out to be an abomination, the only way to stop her is to destroy everything, and so their land burns as the Asgardians, led by the new teyrn and his apostate brother seek refuge in Kirkwall.(ON HIATUS)





	1. Intro. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a crazy idea but why not. ~~I'll try to keep it short and conceptual,~~ but I love the grey morality world of Thedas and I've never written anything in MCU, so the temptation is great to expand in all directions at once :P  
>  Mjolnir is still Thor's weapon, but it's not magical. Heimdall is a Rivaini seer, but he's more of a warrior than a mage and used to be Frigga's bodyguard. Oh, and Thor still has both eyes and his blonde locks.  
> Concrit welcome as usual :)

 

Lothering is on fire, black smoke rising from the fields where the ripening crops are destroyed by the Flame of Ragnarok. Structures crack and crumble in the sweltering heat, roads warping and bridges collapsing as the Asgardians flee from the hell that has been unleashed on their land, the ancient, dark curse that his brother has cast at Thor's bidding.

At least their people are safe, for now, dragging tired feet on the rocky path cutting across a mountain range. The road would lead them to a port on the coast of the Amaranthine Ocean, and from there they should be able to escape to the Free Marches. Hopefully, the fire will keep away the hordes of darkspawn coming from the south, because of course, it's just their luck that the Fifth Blight has broken out only weeks previously. 

The young teyrn clenches his jaw and refuses to look back. He has just lost his father and found out that everything he thought he knew about his family and land has been a lie, a festering coverup for ruthless assassinations and dirty deals involving blood magic, and an abomination of a sister that their father had kept hidden Maker knows where. Thor hopes she has perished in the flames for good.

He glances up, where his brother has stopped to take in the burning destruction raging in the plains below. Dubbed the Lord of Lies and Chaos, studious, solitary and sardonic, he has been absent for a few years, and Thor suspects he's had a hand in the mounting tensions in Orlais. Ugly rumours circulate about his involvement in the massacre of a Dalish clan in the Arbor Wilds. Loki never speaks of what happened during the time he was gone, and it is not clear to Thor what motivates him anymore. But he's the only family Thor has left, and he swears he will have his back and try to win back his trust. He'll try to understand him better.

By starting this hellfire, Loki has painted a large bright target on his back, and Kirkwall does not tolerate apostates.

 

***

Asgard had been a prosperous teyrnir — it's all blood money, Thor snarls internally — and fortunately almost everyone has managed to save at least something before leaving their homes behind. Even with the possibility to pay the fare, negotiating the passage across the sea is still tricky, but it's not for nothing that they call Loki the Silvertongue too.

Heimdall stands on the pier, still as a statue. He watches the blue horizon with eyes narrowed in suspicion while the Asgardians embark on the ships. He can't put a finger to the cause of his worries, but neither he nor Thor can think of any other place to go, with the Blight and the flames of Ragnarok still close on their heels.

Thor refuses to look back at the Fereldan coast as it fades beyond white-crested waves. His land and his home is no more.

Asgard is a people now.

 

***

Thor sits in the hold, his back against the base of the mast, the mesh lattice above his head providing precious little shadow against the midday sun. He's slightly seasick, and tired, and parched. But there's not enough water, and surely the women and children need it more.

He thinks of his father. How he had always seemed so much larger than life, so powerful. So righteous in everything he did. And then all those lies, about Loki's adoption and about Hela, and about Asgard itself. Thor clenches his fists. May Odin walk in peace by the Maker's side, but Thor will do his damnedest to avoid his father's mistakes.

He's jarred from his thoughts as Heimdall calls him to come up, notes of worry and grim determination warring in the Rivaini's voice. Thor finds him standing by the captain's side, both tense as they watch the horizon. Loki stands a few steps away, his knuckles white on the railing as he too tries to make out the forms appearing from the shimmering, bluish mist where the sky meets the sea. It could be a mirage. It could be Qunari dreadnoughts.

Thor thinks he has never seen his brother so still, but then an ear-splitting screech has them turning around and gaping as — as a dragon circles the three refugee ships. Screaming, the few Asgardians that had been on deck, disappear down in the hold as the dragon glides lower, its monstrous golden eyes shining with calculating intelligence. The captain and Heimdall draw their swords, and Loki swings around his staff. Thor already has his battle hammer in his hands, but he doubts any non-magical weapons will do anything to the beast. 

The dragon almost touches the prow of the ship, but then it twists in midair and somehow there is a woman standing in its place on the deck. Her white hair, styled as horns, speak of her age, but she's regal in her bearing, she's proud and powerful, and Thor hears Heimdall's breath hitch in his throat. 

She is Flemeth, and she wants a small service from them. In exchange, she will hide the three ships from the view of the Qunari, and already Thor can see gears turning in his brother's head, curious despite himself, about the source of her power, about her shapeshifting ability. Thor knows nothing about magic, but he is the teyrn now, he must protect his people, and the deal seems almost too good to be true.

He agrees, and they sail past the dreadnought fleet unnoticed.

 

***

The City of Chains spits down on them.

Thor tries to tamp down his rage at being forced to watch as his people are mistreated, ignored, robbed and starved. Heimdall preaches patience, and Thor desperately wants to believe the Seer, to trust that it will all work out somehow. Even Loki, with his diplomacy skills and cunning, is at the end of his tether, especially as they are all held essentially trapped in the Gallows, the island fortress crawling with Templars. Only slowly, with bribes and threats their people are gradually admitted inside the city, and even then the proud Asgardians are presented with options that are scarcely options at all. The arrogant city does not care about the newcomers' skills and experience. They're all Fereldan dogs to them.

Heimdall joins the city guard, but for the teyrn and his brother the choice is — a  year in service to mercenaries, or to smugglers.

Thor and Loki argue about it in harsh whispers huddled near the wall of the Gallows courtyard, Thor's sense of honour clashing violently with Loki's ruthless practicality. In the end, they agree to split up, Thor joining the Red Iron, and Loki siding with Athenril. They need all the contacts and influence they can get, his brother says. They need to protect their people, says Thor. He doesn't need to see Loki rolling his eyes, to know that this will require getting intimately familiar with Kirkwall's underworld, will require going against his values and getting his hands dirty.

He hates it, he hates what this city is turning them into. 

The hut they eventually find for rent is on the very edge of Lowtown, barely a step above the Alienage, and its draughty and cold. Loki takes one look at it, turns around and leaves, promising tersely to come back in the morning.

Thor is left alone, a teyrn without land, in a dark house without a scrap of warmth.


	2. Friends From Asgard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo, this is not going to be "short and conceptual" after all, lol. It's gonna be pretty lore-heavy, complicated and long, because this is Asgard's unresolved imperialism and racism spliced onto Thedas unresolved issues of magic and racism, coupled with general power issues and the good old question of what makes a good leader. There will be Jane and Darcy, and the associated romances are the endgame, but buckle in, dearies, because DA2 covers about a decade :))

 

Bread, cheese, smoked ham, a few pounds of dry beans and barley… Loki lined out his loot on the rickety kitchen table made of rough planks probably found washed up on some god-forsaken seashore. A couple of stolen wool blankets lay folded on a bench of similar sad make.

Loki sat down, his chin resting on his hand as he took in the state of the kitchen. In morning light, it looked even more depressing than before. Desolate, dusty shelves lined the walls. Some pots and pans hung on hooks near an open grate, and there was a bread oven too. Loki had no idea how to use it. He doubted Thor had either. The floor was earthen, with crumbling cracks and bits of sawdust, and something that looked like dried mouse droppings in the corners. The rest of the house at least had wooden board floors.

He could hear Thor getting up from his bed and winced at how thin the walls were. Living in this hovel was going to be far from pleasant. Loki had seen worse on his travels, and he was far from the spoiled nobleman’s son he had been less than two years ago, but he knew he was still going to hate every second spent here in Lowtown.

“You came back.” Thor grinned as he appeared in the doorway, blond hair tousled from sleep and relief evident in every inch of his tall frame. He reminded Loki of a mabari war hound, all muscle and little finesse, and about as much brains. Ah, the little joys of simple minds!

“I said I would, did I not?” Loki raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t always keep your promises, brother,” Thor challenged, sitting down at the table across from Loki and grabbing the loaf of bread. He tore off some chunks for himself and Loki, and used his dagger to slice the ham and cheese. Loki saw his blue eyes darkening as he probably realized where the food had come from.

“I found out a few things,” Loki said before Thor could start a righteous rant about his methods.

“The city is ruled by a Viscount,” he stated as he tore his bread chunk into smaller, bite-sized pieces. “Some nobleman named Marlowe Dumar. The word on the streets is that he sits in the Knight Commander’s pocket. Her name is Meredith Stannard. The local Chantry doesn’t seem to be much of an authority over the Knight Commander either. Thought you should know that.”

Thor made a grimace and then tore another chunk of bread from the loaf. “We’ll be careful.”

Careful, right. Loki huffed. When had his brash, warrior brother been careful? His not-brother. Whatever.

“We’re not in Asgard anymore,” he reiterated his point. “This is not one of your adventures, Thor. If you get in trouble I may not be able to help you.”

Thor nodded. “I know. And if _you_ get in trouble…”

“Then, for mercy’s sake, stay out of it.”

“I meant to say I’ll try to not step on this Meredith’s toes, as I get you out of it, brother.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I do not doubt that, but I’m not leaving you in Templar hands if it ever comes to it.”

Loki sighed with exasperation, as Thor bit down a smirk.

Finished with the simple breakfast, they located a broom and a bucket, and the nearest water pump to try and get the house in some semblance of order. As they dusted and scrubbed, Loki told Thor more about their new city, about the Chantry sitting proudly on the top of a hill in Hightown, and the Viscount’s Keep, and the city guard; about its market and warehouses down by the Docks, and the shady alleys and backdoors of Lowtown.

“It’s dishonourable to steal,” Thor finally snapped at Loki. “Mother raised you better than this.”

A dull ache rose its head in Loki’s chest, and he had to fight the impulse to retort with something vitriolic.

“There is no honour in starving,” Loki said finally. “And do yourself a favour — stop lying to yourself. In the year to come, we’ll both be doing much worse than that.”

Cleaning turned out to be an awkward and clumsy affair, and in a few hours the two Asgardians were filthy and exhausted, while the kitchen and the two small bedrooms looked only marginally better than before. Some furniture needed replacing, and there was a whole lot of things missing, but Loki couldn’t exactly say what they were — it just didn’t feel like home. Judging from Thor’s forlorn look he tried to hide behind his usual optimistic grin, his brother felt it too.

There was no bathroom in the house, so they put up some clotheslines between the neighbouring building and the outhouse in their tiny backyard, threw some sheets over them and washed as quickly as possible. Loki made sure Thor had gone back inside before he removed his shirt, checking the illusion on his back and shoulders. He had to use his magic sparingly, to avoid detection by the Templars, but soon, he supposed, it was going to be a moot point once he started out as Athenril’s battle mage. The rough washcloth and the cold water from the bucket left Loki’s skin flushed, with a tang of foul smell from whatever polluted ground waters the communal pump connected to.

They will need to find better water for cooking, Loki thought tiredly as he walked the muddy streets of their neighbourhood, a bundle of their dirty clothes under his arm. He left it with a washerwoman for a few coppers and reluctantly made his way back as the sun set behind the smoking Foundry, painting the sky in brilliant tones of violet, red and orange.

He knew one day it was going to be a question of power, not hiding, but hopefully that day was still in the far future.

  

***

As a few weeks passed, Thor had to admit they had settled in about as well as they could, and barring any wondrous, magical interventions, it was what it was and not likely to get much better.

His job with Red Iron, the mercenary band run by a fellow Fereldan, Meeran, mostly kept him busy at nights. Their clients were noblemen and merchants of various calibres, their venues — from questionable dealings in back alley pubs by the Docks to splendid, revelrous parties in Hightown. Once or twice now Thor had ventured even into Darktown, the secret, murderous undercity spread out through the old sewage tunnels under Hightown.

Having watched Thor fight a few times, Meeran had relegated him to bodyguards. According to him, any assassination attempts, which did sometimes fall into Red Iron’s line of work, were bound to fail by Thor’s loud steps and boisterous fighting style.

That had wounded Thor’s pride, of course. He was an elite fighter, and it was hard to accept criticism of his fighting skills. But Meeran was right, and secretly Thor was even relieved. He did despise stealth.

The money he made was ridiculously small, even before Meeran deducted the payoff for the bribe that had got him inside the city. Loki passed some of his own earnings to Thor, since he was more likely to be at home during the market working hours. It was not much either, but somehow they seemed to cope. Thor tried to be patient, reminded himself that others were even less fortunate, and the beggars on the streets did help remind him of that, but it was frustrating nevertheless.

Loki came and went at strange hours, with little pattern to his work with the smugglers, and Thor still found himself surprised whenever his wayward brother returned. Loki didn’t seem to remember their childhood with any fondness, and the erstwhile admiration and warm mischief had disappeared from his gaze for good. Thor had no idea how to bring it back.

Sometimes Loki was gone for days if business took him out to Athenril’s contact points on the Wounded Coast, and sometimes he was dutifully home before dark, cursing about dirty docks and stinking fishermen, or swearing about the oblivious city guards who wouldn’t know crates of stolen goods in plain daylight if they had labels painted on their sides in bright red letters.

“I thought you’d be glad,” Thor had teased him one evening. “Makes your job easier.”

“It’s a disgrace!” Loki had sputtered. “This whole city is a mess! It would benefit from someone who actually knows a thing or two about governance.”

“Well, you certainly know more about it than me, brother,” Thor had murmured.

“I… Nonsense! Years ago, _maybe_ I thought… But no. I’m better off on my own. Kirkwall will have to do without my benevolent and competent leadership.”

‘As will the Asgardians’ was what remained unsaid, and Thor had to clench his jaw and accept it that he’d never be his own man again, like he’d wanted. That foolish dream had died together with his father, together with Loki’s self-imposed exile. The destruction of Asgard might be giving him the opportunity to start out on his own, but somehow it didn’t feel right anymore. And so he remained, trapped between his sense of duty and no actual idea what to do with it in Kirkwall.

To Thor’s relief, after some more quarrels, frustrated sighs and eye-rolling, Loki at least had not brought home any more stolen goods. If he did get anything, he made it a point to bring Thor a signed note from the merchant stating the date of purchase and the price paid, and sometimes Thor wanted to strangle him for such pettiness. Of course, Loki could just as well forge it all. But there was a limit to which Thor was willing to consider his brother’s conscience and magic. Ever since Loki’s return to Asgard, Thor had often preferred not to ask, and often he wondered if it was right, if it was helping him heal his relationship with his brother, or if it was doing the exact opposite.

He simply didn’t understand him.

 

***

It was night, and, like many night before Loki found himself unable to sleep as he stared up at the dark ceiling, hands clasped over his stomach.

If he closed his eyes, he saw himself cutting his forearm, red blood welling up under the dagger and dripping down his fingers right before he cast the Ragnarok spell. He saw the fire demons summoned by the dark curse, saw them destroy the Lothering castle with Hela’s army of undead and everyone else who had not yet managed to escape.

He saw a green veilfire flickering on the edges of his vision, barely visible amid the normal red-orange flames as it burned the memories, hopes, emotions tied to the fields and buildings. The land they had left behind was more than just ruined. Loki supposed the curse had destroyed even Asgard’s imprint in the Fade. It had been completely unmade, even if the area still remained on the physical plane.

It was complicated and depressing, and Loki wondered if he would ever be able to explain it to Thor.

He wasn’t too keen to try, to be honest. That would require trying to explain the spell, which was based on blood magic, which he learned on his short stay in Tevinter, the spell itself originating in Nevarra. Then the oaf would want to know how he wound up there in the first place, and Loki didn’t care to get into that either.

If he closed his eyes, he saw a lush jungle and buildings of white marble, accurate squares and sensible structures with perfect proportions. He saw a dank dungeon and a shining substance calling out to him, and…

And he wanted to run. He wanted to run and hide as far as possible, preferably somewhere by the Sundered Sea in the far south where _they_ would never find him.

But he had run last time, when he’d found out about his true parentage, and when he’d returned almost two years later, it was only to find that Mother had been killed by some vindictive lordling with a grudge against Odin, and a mere week after his return Odin had died, and then Hela had happened, and, well... Brother or not, Loki was not sure he was ready to leave Thor behind at the moment, even if without him he’d probably be more than capable to find his way into the upper circles of Kirkwall.

That is, until _they_ find him. Or until the nobles find out he was a half-breed and a wanted criminal. Or the Templars noticed he was an apostate mage. Or the Asgardians decided that Hela’s destruction hadn’t warranted such a dark spell after all.

Apparently, he wasn’t going to manage any sleep. Putting on his boots and black-green coat, Loki grabbed his staff and slipped out to explore the city.

 

***

“Loki! Let’s walk around Lowtown,” Thor said with a bright smile on his face. It was one of those rare days that both brothers were home at once, sitting in their backyard and cleaning their armour. “We should find out where the rest of our people live. I want to know how they’re doing.”

Loki snorted.

“Do I have to remind you I’m not exactly Asgardian?” Loki drawled, but there was little malice behind his tone. He was almost used to the bitter truth now, and he could hardly blame Thor for the lie Loki had been told his whole life. He shook his head anyway. “I have no people. Especially not after burning down the whole teyrn with blood magic.”

“Humour me,” Thor persisted.

“It’s better if I stay. Besides, it’s not like we’re in a position to do anything for them. Knowing how bad it is will only cause you to feel worse, and then do something stupid.”

But of course the fool wouldn't listen to him, and with a sigh Loki allowed Thor to pull him up, press his staff in his hand and drag him out the door.

They were walking on eggshells around each other, and Loki hated it. So much had happened in that one week since his return to Asgard, not to mention the two years of his self-imposed exile and wanderings; not to mention the lies and the jealousy, the bitter rivalry of their upbringing. Loki was still trying to figure out how much he could trust Thor. Surely there was a limit to his stubborn acceptance? Where did the new, picture-perfect teyrn draw the line?

They talked about this and that, about things of little consequence as they strolled through the busy, dirty streets of Lowtown, stopping for a greeting and a few words here and there as they went. Some of the Asgardians had found work at the docks, while some of the more lucky ones had found employment with the city’s craftsmen and merchants. Some could tell Thor that their neighbours or relatives who had belonged to a nobleman’s household back in Asgard had managed to stay with their original employers or the noble’s extended family here in Kirkwall, or moved on to Starkhaven or Ostwick. Thor listened attentively, smiling and reassuring his remaining flock, while Loki trailed behind him, arms crossed over his chest.

Quietly, Loki told his brother that not a few Asgardians had joined Athenril’s band, and he had also seen some familiar faces within the rival ranks, the Coterie. Thor worried it may put him in a difficult situation, and once more Loki had to rein in his sharp tongue. As if he’d ever let himself be caught in a crossfire like that. Ridiculous.

It was late afternoon and the sun was beating down mercilessly as they walked down the long stair to the docks, taking in the milling crowds of just arrived refugees and the usual mass of sailors, fishermen, beggars, merchants, drunkards and dock workers.

Looking out for trouble as usual, Loki noticed her first — by the warehouses there stood a tall, ginger swordswoman carrying a silver shield with the Templar insignia on her back. She didn’t appear to be a Templar herself, and he was about to dismiss her, but then his eyes widened as he recognized the rest of the woman’s company. He swallowed thickly before catching Thor’s shoulder and pointing his staff.

“Look. The Hawkes.”

His brother squinted against the sun.

“You’re sure? I haven’t seen them for three or four years.”

Loki suppressed an urge to hit him on the head with his staff.

“We practically grew up in their household, and you couldn’t even be bothered to check up on them?”

Thor shrugged. “I barely remember them, Loki. It was you who was constantly trailing after Malcolm with never-ending questions about magic.”

Loki almost groaned. Of course, it had been beyond naïve of him to expect Thor to care about people Loki almost considered his second family. _And you ran away from them too_ , a nasty voice in his mind said. _You can’t blame Thor for your own failures._ Loki clenched his jaw as he fumed.

Nevertheless, it was a relief to see the Hawkes having made a safe escape from Asgard after all, weeks later than the others. They looked different to Loki, changed even in the two years he had been absent. Both daughters looked so much taller, and beautiful; Lady Leandra with steel grey hair now, but still proud and unbent.

Thor grinned and bounded down the remaining steps, with Loki following at a more hesitant pace. How much did they know, he wondered. Did they know he had been the one to cast the Ragnarok spell? Had Malcolm and Leandra known about his true origins?

“Lady Leandra!”

“My Lord!” The widow elegantly curtsied, evidently happy to see Thor alive and well, before the new teyrn caught her by the elbows.

“You don’t bow to me, Lady Leandra!” Thor laughed, tucking her hand in his arm and turning towards her daughters. “And neither do you, my dear ladies! As my brother just reminded me, you are almost family, after all.”

The eldest daughter, harried and tired-looking, frowned at him from under a messy fringe of short, black hair before recognition hit. “Thor? Maker, am I glad to see you, buddy!”

“Marian, _respect_! He’s the teyrn now!”

“Nonsense, Mother, we used to train together. Or have you grown too proud, Odinson?”

“Is Loki here too? We only heard rumours of his return…” wondered the younger girl, who was leaning for support on the red-headed warrior Loki had noticed first. Her gentle brown eyes searched the crowd, and, with dread coiling in the pit of his stomach, Loki found himself walking forward, a charming smile forming on his lips like second nature.

“I am here,” he greeted them with open hands, and then suddenly he was crushed to Leandra’s ample chest, while Marian raised an eloquent eyebrow and Bethany’s smile lit up the docks like the sun peeking out from the clouds. But the tears in Leandra’s eyes were not only tears of joy, and there were dark circles under Marian’s eyes, and Beth was limping, and it turned out they had lost Bethany’s twin brother Carver to the darkspawn.

They offered their condolences and were introduced to the swordswoman, Aveline Vallen, who had helped them escape Ferelden and had lost her Templar husband in the process. Leandra’s family had an estate here in Kirkwall, owned by her brother, and Aveline planned to take her chances with the city guard. Marian and Bethany, in a similar deal as Thor, had joined the Red Iron to buy their family entrance into the city.

Together they walked up to Hightown, parting ways at the market square. Thor had offered to accompany Aveline to the Viscount’s Keep, where the barracks of the city guard were located. He wanted Heimdall to put in a word for the woman.

Loki would accompany the Hawkes to Leandra’s ancient home, the Amell Estate. Thoughtful, he had mentioned to Thor that he had never heard of the name while in Kirkwall, but Thor, ever the optimist, had pointed out that even the Lord of Mischief could not know everything. They had parted with their hopes high.

The smile slipped from Loki's lips as he fell a few steps behind Bethany, mindful of the thugs that sometimes pressed their luck even in broad daylight in Hightown. Marian nodded at him curtly as she noticed it, her double daggers at the ready in well-worn sheaths against her hips as she moved to similarly shield her mother's back.

Soon enough though, his still limping younger not-sister, his bright-eyed companion in the discovery of the arcane, glanced over her shoulder and fell in step with him, warm eyes and easy smiles disarming him, white hands wrapping around his metal vambrace as she leaned on him.

Loki found himself shaken. He was grateful that the new sights and impressions kept Bethany's questions in the present, but with every step he realized just how far he had drifted from the happy, careless, inquisitive days spent with the Hawkes in their little farm on the outskirts of Lothering. It had become his second home after he had exhausted what little magical knowledge Frigga had had, her self-taught and instinctive spells no match for Leandra's Circle-taught husband.

And look at the mess his life was now. He didn't even know where to start, to come clean to anyone anymore. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

No, he thought covering Bethany's hand with his own as they stood on a street corner listening to Marian and Leandra argue about whose fault it was that apparently they had taken a wrong turn. He would help the Asgardian refugees where possible, but he could not let anyone in, and he would always have to have a plan of escape ready if they ever found out just what kind of a monster he was.

He knew he was right. And still, the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

***

It had been a long day, the everpresent, orange glare from the Foundry hiding the first blinking stars as Thor walked home, but for the first time in a while he felt he had actually accomplished something useful.

Aveline had been accepted to serve in the guard, and even Heimdall, former bodyguard to a teyrna, had been impressed with her skills. The three of them had talked, time slipping away as they shared their stories of escape and loss, their impressions of Kirkwall and its city guard, their tentative hopes for healing heartache and a brighter future.

It was not before he saw the light glowing in the windows of their little house that Thor realized something was wrong. Loki had planned to leave till tomorrow evening, and usually he tried to warn Thor about any change in his plans. Which was new, but Thor appreciated the tentative little things his stubborn sibling tried to do to rebuild some trust between them.

Worried, Thor barged in, but it was not his brother he found, it was Bethany and Marian, reordering Loki’s room and arguing about the placement of the additional mattresses Thor saw stacked in a corner. Hearing the door bang open, Leandra had hurried out of the kitchen, drying her hands in an apron, an embarrassed, worried frown on her face.

They had found the estate, but it did not belong to the Amells anymore, and nobody knew anything about Leandra’s brother. Out of the blue, Loki had offered them to stay with him and Thor for the time being, until they found their Uncle Gamlen and at least discovered what had happened to their family fortune. Together with Marian, Loki had managed to procure three more mattresses – and Thor had to bite his tongue lest he asked where and how, because doubting the honour of Leandra’s eldest was truly not something he wanted to do.

Later, Thor sighed as he relaxed in his bed, eyes sliding over one of the mattresses left leaning upright against the wall of his room, with Loki’s things gathered neatly in a box nearby. There was going to be little room in the house, but the brothers were rarely both home at the same time, and it probably wouldn’t take Loki long to find that lost relative of theirs.

The bed creaked in the other room as Leandra turned over, and Thor could even hear the quiet breathing of the girls. The warm smell of fresh bread and a simple stew hung in the air, and Thor went to sleep with renewed hope in his chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it made more or less sense. I hope people who are not familiar with DA are still able to follow, treating DA characters simply as a bunch of complicated OCs.  
> Oh, and Thor is about 25 in this, Loki is 24, Marian 22, and Bethany 18.  
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask!


	3. On Opposite Sides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that relationship tags (and tags in general) will evolve as I write.  
> I also added the Major Character Death warning. It's a canon death, but if you don't know DA, it may be painful. Eventually. When we get to it.

 

“So what’s the deal with your brother, hmm?”

Loki glanced at the slender elf standing on his right, but Athenril simply continued nonchalantly watching her thugs unloading the crates from the ship. Apparently she was just bored.

Loki shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you end up so different, I guess. Why didn’t he take my offer?”

“He has this notion of honour, and he’s not very stealthy. Aren’t you content with my services?”

“You’re good,” she admitted. “And it’s not like I’m killing people for money or whatever. I have my own code of honour.”

“I know.” Loki turned slowly around, his sharp gaze sliding over the dark warehouses at their back. He was acting as a guard tonight, making sure nobody showed up asking any questions or seeing something they shouldn’t. He could feel his boss’ eyes sliding down his back.

“If you have any problems, or...” Her eyes stopped at the bottom of his armoured coat, the edge still dirty from the road and the ashes of Asgard. “Or if you need an advance payment, you can just ask. You seem to be used to a better life than this.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Soon, all the crates were loaded on sturdy carts. Loki watched as some of the smugglers walked around the caravan checking the pony harnesses and making sure a waterproofed cloth covered the crates completely. Athenril was exchanging some last words with the ship’s captain, when a group of twenty or more city guards emerged from around a street corner and spilled out on the docks.

“Drop your weapons and don’t move!”

Bloody hell. Loki recognized Heimdall’s voice. Was it a coincidence, or were they testing the new recruit’s loyalty? He didn’t have much time to think, when half the drivers started running, and the other half ducked behind the carts while the ten or so smugglers drew their weapons and attacked. Cursing once more, Loki swung his staff around and drew on the Fade.

Ice worked so well with lightning. He watched with detachment as he froze three guards solid, and then dismembered them as a magical lighting storm tore them to pieces. A couple more impaled themselves on the shards of ice he had encircled himself with.

“Cease this madness and surrender!”

Smart, that Heimdall hadn’t called his name, although there was no way he hadn’t recognized the mage. Loki might need to take Athenril up on her offer and at least get himself some different clothing. For his common sense, Heimdall got simply stunned and then bashed into the ground. Force magic was another one of Loki’s strengths.

But his favourite… He grinned darkly as five guards, having identified him as the main threat, tried to trap him against a warehouse wall. Entropy spells came to him as naturally as breathing. Illusions and nightmares that could drive a person mad, make them step off a cliff or fall on their own sword. He watched as two of the guards blinked in confusion, stunned by something only they could see. Loki swung his staff around, using it as a blunt weapon to knock out another one. The second guard let out a gurgling breath and slumped on his knees, Athenril standing behind him as she tore her knife out of his side. The third guard died on Loki’s own dagger.

She looked him over, breathing heavily. “No blood magic this time?”

Loki shook his head. “There was no need for it.”

He glanced around the docks, taking in the fallen guards and the overturned carts, a few crates broken, with the goods — canned fruit delicacies from Antiva — spilled out on the cobblestones. The remaining drivers were fearfully crawling out from their hideouts, making their way to the carts to check on their horses. The small cargo ship had already sailed off beyond the Gallows. Some of Athenril’s men lay dead or heavily injured, others had fled.

The elf frowned as she followed Loki’s gaze. “I guess I can’t hold it against them,” she mused. “The fools were only paid to unload the crates and help us get them into the warehouse.”

Loki followed her as she picked her way to the carts, every now and then bending down to check if anyone was alive. Loki hoped she didn’t notice the tall Rivaini at the street corner, helping another injured guard as they stumbled away, but then she bent down to finish off an injured guard, and of course Heimdall couldn’t watch it and do nothing.

“Watch out!” Loki called as he sent a barrage of ice in front of the smuggler, hoping it would stop the arrow, but he was too late.

The dagger slipped from the woman’s grip as she dumbly watched the feathered stem of an arrow poking out from her chest.

“Athenril!”

She looked up at him, her large grey eyes filled with helpless rage, a wordless challenge Loki understood all too well. Here was his creditor, a half-step from death — a tiny step that would set him free, no more debts and no witnesses. He wouldn’t even have to do anything, just walk away. Loki swallowed thickly, his hands shaking on her thin shoulders as he tried to keep her upright.

She was just a smuggler, a lowly knife-ear.

An elf.

“I’m crap at healing magic,” he muttered.

“I know... someone who isn’t,” she whimpered through the pain. “Get me... to him.”

Loki cursed under his breath as he wiped the bloody foam from the corner of her mouth. This was  stupid, not to mention pointless. She was going to die anyway, and he already had the Hawkes at home, surely he had fulfilled his monthly quota of charity? What right did this Athenril have to expect anything more from him?

Fucking sentimentality.

He picked her up carefully, mindful of the arrow still piercing her upper chest, and slipped into the shadows between the warehouses, following her barely audible instructions as he made his way to Darktown.

 

***

The healer was not what Loki had expected. First, he seemed just a few years older than Loki. Then again, apostates rarely survived into old age. Second, he was _handsome,_ with honey blond hair and laughter lines around warm, amber eyes. Between the suddenly grown-up Bethany, with her wavy black hair and the roses in her cheeks, and the tall and daring Marian, Loki definitely had thought his chances of meeting any more pretty people today were slim to non-existent. And then this Anders proved him wrong, just by existing.

Loki sat on a nearby cot, watching the healer work his magic. Oil lanterns and cheap candles were casting golden light on the stone walls of the clinic, illuminating the simple operation table and the cots for the patients. The secret facility, run by the apostate and a few of his helpers, was carved into the cliff facing the passage into Kirkwall harbour, and it felt clean in a way few things had lately, for Loki.

In Kirkwall, there was always this slimy, oily, dirty feel in the air, a constant buzz at the back of his head, a tiredness in his limbs at the end of the day that had nothing to do with his actual activities. The Veil was thin in Kirkwall, the Fade so much closer to the real world.

Not wanting the healer to catch him staring, Loki closed his eyes and simply basked in the soothing sense of cleansing spells, of the healing magic Anders worked over the smuggler’s wound. The quiet was broken only by the murmured prayers of a mother kneeling at the simple altar in the middle of the hall, the waves crashing against the walls below. If only he had known of such a place earlier, as he fled his captors, fled Tevinter, fled Orlais… He would’ve appreciated a discreet, compassionate healer on the apostate side of the law.

“Hey,” Anders’ pleasant tenor broke into Loki’s thoughts. “Athenril will be sleeping for the next few hours. I’d like her to stay for at least a few days more, but she’s the kind of troublemaker that doesn’t stay down for long, right?”

Loki smirked, looking up at the healer. “The woman is lucky to have survived in the first place. Perhaps I can make her stay longer.”

The healer smiled at that, and Loki’s heart skipped a beat. There was something about this Anders that fed his hopes, stupid as they were, and out of place.

“Do you need any patching up yourself?” the healer offered, and Loki shook his head, spite and self-loathing swelling in his chest once more. He wasn’t injured and didn’t need any special care.

Anders watched him for a long moment, eyes the colour of whiskey boring into Loki’s, seemingly questioning all his lies and pretences. Loki swallowed thickly.

“All right.” Anders glanced away. “But you should sleep too. Take this cot, I’ll bring you some blanket. I’ll stay here and watch over your friend.”

 _She’s not my friend_ , Loki wanted to snap. _She’s my employer, the only one who would pay for my entrance into this shit city. And I’m just an idiot too stupid to seize my chance._

He lay down with a sigh, his eyes trained on the elf’s thin, unmoving form. Facing his dumb decision was still preferable to following the slender healer’s effortless movements around the clinic as he cleaned the operation table and sanitized his tools, refilled and rearranged his salve bottles and other ingredients.

Thor was probably going to be mad at him for attacking Heimdall. Loki could be, in turn, mad at Thor about Heimdall attacking him and Athenril, but that was neither here nor there, and Loki was too tired to think about it any more. He was mad at himself as it was.

 

***

Loki had not returned by morning as he’d planned, and Thor was doing his best trying not to worry. His brother was a capable fighter, surely he was alright.

Instead he had agreed to venture out with Marian and Bethany to look for their uncle.

“So we’ve checked the pubs and taverns, asked the merchants, and at an occasional inn,” Marian mused, leaning against a wall and counting down on her fingers. “We should try pawn shops and brothels. Any other ideas?”

Thor frowned. He did wonder how the girl who grew up on a farm had such an instinctual sense of direction for the kind of vice pits they had been visiting.

“You’re bringing your sister into such establishments?” he asked.

“The sister is of age!” Bethany protested. “I can stomach a bit of nakedness!”

Now Marian frowned too. “No, but Thor is right. Mother would have my head.”

“Then don’t tell her!”

The elder sister raked a hand through her messy black hair and muttered something unintelligible.

“Fine! But if Mother finds out and blames _me_ again...”

“Does she do that a lot?” Thor asked as they started walking again, the muddy streets of Lowtown giving way to the cracked stone pavement on the edges of Hightown.

“Yeah, well,” Marian mumbled. “She blames me for Carver’s death.”

“You know it’s not your fault,” Bethany reassured her, rushing to keep up with Marian’s and Thor’s longer strides.

“I do know… kind of. But if I had been quicker, or seen that ogre coming at him instead of only focussing on my own stupid fight...”

“It’s not your fault, you can’t save everyone in a battle,” Thor said. “You should honour his memory, be proud he died a warrior’s death.”

Marian clenched her jaw and shrugged. “Tell that to my mother.”

Could he? Thor wondered. Was it his place in any way? He could certainly keep his eyes open for an opportunity to do so. But meanwhile… Thor took a bracing breath as they stopped in front of The Blooming Rose. He was no innocent to such places of debauchery, but Bethany…

“You want a special invite?” The girl raised an eyebrow as she held the door open for him, Marian already inside. Right. They were here on business, after all.

 

***

By the evening, they still hadn’t found anyone named Gamlen Amell, or anyone knowing where to look for him. Still, the girls were not ready to give up, and, his plate full with Leandra’s delicious cooking, Thor was far from pessimistic too. Either way, Loki’s continued absence worried him much more than the missing uncle.

“So what do you plan to do now?” Marian asked in her usual brusque manner, putting a fishbone down on her plate and sucking her fingers clean, much to Leandra’s dismay.

“How do you mean?” Thor wondered.

“You know, with you being the teyrn, and with Asgard gone… How does it work?”

Thor shrugged. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest. Perhaps Lady Leandra knows of any...”

There came an impatient knock on the door.

Thor and Marian exchanged a quick glance, before Thor grabbed a nearby fire poker and went to open the door, while Marian dashed into her room for more proper weapons. The alarm turned out to be false, as Thor threw the door open.

“Heimdall!” Thor chuckled in relief. At this point he half-expected the city guard coming to inform him about the trouble Loki has got himself into. Oh, but Heimdall _was_ a guard now.

“Is Loki home, my lord?” the Rivaini politely inquired, his golden eyes flicking up to meet Bethany’s as she peeked around a corner and then disappeared again, probably to put away her staff.

“No. He hasn’t returned since last night. Do you know anything, my friend?”

Heimdall sighed. Thor steered him towards the kitchen, where Leandra put a new kettle on fire, quickly preparing some herbs for tea. They all knew each other, or at least knew _of_ each other, so introductions were short.

“Tell, us, has something happened?” Bethany asked.

“You do look a bit beaten up,” Marian smirked, earning an angry elbow nudge from Leandra.

“Well,” Heimdall started as they all sat down around the rickety table again. “I knew your brother joined the smugglers, to get inside the city.”

“As I joined the Red Iron,” Thor reminded him. “Neither is a very honourable choice, but we had no other.”

“Then perhaps we should have discussed it in more detail, considering I joined the city guard.”

“We mean no trouble for the good citizens of Kirkwall, Heimdall. It’s like we agreed, we won’t even tell you of our plans, so as not to put you in a difficult position. Our paths needn’t cross.”

“They already have,” Heimdall pointed to the large bruise on the side of his head. “I was sent to disrupt a black market deal on the docks, and to arrest the participants. It turned out to be this Athenril and your brother. Nineteen guards dead, Thor. Only I and one other survived, because I got him away on time.”

“Surely Loki recognized you?” Thor asked.

“I’m sure he did, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here. There were some other low-lifes Athenril had hired to do the dirty work, but the damage they did was nothing compared to your brother’s.”

Thor shrugged uneasily. “You knew he’s a mage.”

“I knew, yes.” Heimdall levelled a serious gaze on Thor. “I remember him successfully duelling his teacher, and I remember what he pulled off in Lothering. But his power has grown considerably while he was away. He’s nowhere near an average battle mage, my lord.”

Thor frowned at him. “I understand, and you have my deepest regret that this confrontation happened. But what do you want me to do? Tell Loki to turn his back on Athenril? I hear she’s not one to forgive betrayal, or a lost investment. We’re new in this city, and you and Loki both always called for caution.”

“I’m telling you this because I shot Athenril as I was getting away,” Heimdall said. “I’m completely certain that she won’t have survived the injury. So my question is, if the smuggler is dead, where is your apostate brother?”

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen. Thor ached to do something, to go out in the night and look for Loki, to go down to the docks and try to figure out what exactly had happened, because there were things Heimdall had evidently glossed over… How serious was it? Was Loki truly dangerous? Not in terms of power, because stronger was usually better, in Thor’s book, but could he be trusted to wield that power responsibly? For good? Or… Maker’s breath! What _was_ good anymore, in their situation?

“What _did_ Loki do in Lothering?” Bethany suddenly asked.

Marian pressed her lips in a line. “He’s the one who caused all that destruction, sister. I didn’t want you to know. But everyone kinda does.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons, darling,” Leandra added.

“I asked him,” Thor admitted. “He had mentioned the spell in passing when we just started fighting Hela, and when later it seemed the only option, and it turned out he knew how to cast it, I asked him to do it...”

“For all the shit and giggles it brought us,” Loki drawled, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. No one except Heimdall had noticed him slipping in. The mage shared a long look with Bethany, before reaching for his belt and untying a heavy-looking leather pouch. With a haughty look, he threw it jingling onto the table.

“You may want to brush up your bow skills, Heimdall,” he challenged. “Athenril lives, my service agreement has been shortened by a third, I met someone interesting, and I got paid handsomely for my efforts. But yes, the ashes of Asgard are on my hands, I haven’t forgotten that.”

With that he turned and slammed his and Thor’s bedroom door behind him.

Thor sighed. It was just as well that he had work tonight. He needed to punch something, and Loki probably needed to be left alone.

 


	4. Stumbling on the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Gamlen is finally found, and turns out Thor has some secrets too. Well, perhaps not exactly secrets. More like nobody ever thought to ask.

 

It was a few days later when Marian finally talked Thor into going for a drink.

“We’ve earned it,” she had whined. “Meeran’s been working us as draught horses for weeks!”

Bethany had not been interested, but Loki had backed Marian up, and Thor had caved. It was, after all, his brother’s coin they planned to get drunk on. And he missed the raucous, wild joy of a noisy tavern, the bitter tang of beer, the simple brawls over card debts or cheating, husky laugh and heaving chests of tavern wenches, all that rough, careless vitality and freedom.

And then, a few steps from the Hanged Man, Loki had stopped in the street, eyes narrowed at some blinking lantern in the distance, excused himself and disappeared into the night. Blighted smugglers and their secret business.

So there he was with Marian at a back table darkened with age and spilled drinks, notches from a knife marking its edges and crisscrossing the sticky surface. But the beer was good, and the ambience just what Thor needed. He sighed as he felt his shoulders relaxing, a long-forgotten laughter bubbling up his chest at something Marian said.

They sat, legs outstretched and shoulders touching comfortably as they watched the people talking, arguing, laughing, or brooding over their drinks.

“Why didn’t Beth want to come?” Thor idly wondered. “She’s always so keen to prove she’s a grownup now. Remember when we looked for Gamlen at the Blooming Rose?”

“She’s still a shy girl under all that bravado. Avoiding public places, avoiding Templars and even regular Chantry priests is second nature to her. She’ll avoid going out if there is no need for it, just simple pleasure.”

“And put up a façade of bravery when she has to,” Thor chuckled. “Sounds a lot like my brother.”

Marian snorted. “Sounds barely anything like your brother. Beth is afraid of her magic, of what her powers could do to her loved ones. Loki seems to be embracing them with abandon.”

“Not quite true. He has his own demons.” Thor took a long drink from his cup, relishing how Marian relaxed against him. “But you’re not afraid of anything, are you?” he asked.

Striking blue eyes glanced up at him, an obnoxious smirk on lush red lips.

“I _love_ it here,” she admitted. “I’m probably a horrible person for saying this, but… getting away from Lothering, from that boring small farm and my father’s lingering shadow… I can be my own person here in Kirkwall.”

“Hmm.”

“I just love fighting, you know? I’m trying to tell myself that I was forced into this, but the simple truth is that I just love the thrill, the danger of it all… I’m probably not quite normal.”

Thor wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her closer.

“Don’t worry. I’m the same.”

A tavern girl emerged from the crowd, leaning low over their table and winking at Hawke.

“There’s someone wants to meet folks like you two,” she said.

“Who? What do they want?” Thor demanded.

“You won’t regret. Upstairs, last door on the right at the end of the corridor.”

She collected their empty cups and disappeared again, leaving Thor’s questions unanswered.

“Well?” Hawke stretched like a cat, offering Thor a shit-eating grin and a good look at the nice, clean lines of her muscled arms and back under the light shirt she wore instead of her usual leather armour. Despite Leandra’s constant protests, the minx had refreshingly little respect for him as a teyrn.

Thor stood and rolled his shoulders, feeling the long-forgotten thrill of an adventure not paid for, an adventure he was not ordered on. His hammer Mjolnir a reassuring weight in his hand, he followed Marian upstairs.

 

***

The Friend — the only name the strange woman gave to them — wanted them to get rid of some street gangs that plagued Kirkwall at night. Some seemed to be concentrating on Hightown, while others targeted the Docks and Lowtown.

It was not urgent, she said. The robbers would get what they had coming for them this way or another. But if Hawke and Thor had some time and energy to spend, a need for a little coin on the side…

“I’m not entirely sure about this.” Thor ran a hand through his hair as they descended the stair into the main room of the tavern again. “I think there’s more to it than some charitable citizen organizing a resistance to dangerous street gangs.”

Marian shrugged. “They _are_ robbing innocent people. What does it matter if there is anything more to it?”

She was right. And still, the whole thing sat uneasy with Thor, a lifetime with a master liesmith of a brother making him more sensitive to hidden truths, even if he couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause for his suspicion. Something else nagged at his memory, something during his short exile from Lothering after a thoughtless attack on an offending arl, not long after Loki had disappeared two years ago.

He shook his head. Some things from his short stay in Denerim he would never forget, but as to their meaning… It would come to him sooner or later.

He opened the tavern door for Marian, neither in the mood to stay. She stopped briefly, glancing over the public one last time, when her eyes narrowed on a sad drunk causing a scene by the bar.

The tavern keeper had called him Gamlen.

 

***

It had been well past midnight when they had returned home, waking both Bethany and Leandra.

Voices reverberated around the kitchen now, upset and angry, a tang of bitterness in the air, and a sense of betrayal almost tangible and quantifiable.

"Have you no shame, avoiding us for weeks? We are your family!"

“I can’t believe you’re dropping this on me now, Leandra!”

“But what about the estate? Surely father left it to you?”

“Yeah, about the estate. It’s gone. To settle a debt. I _had_  been meaning to write to you!”

Arms crossed over his chest, Thor watched Leandra’s hopes take a beating as her brother, a balding weasel of a man with sunken eyes and alcohol on his breath, updated them on the current financial standing of the Amells.

He remained where they had sat him by the kitchen table, a guilty look in watery eyes, hands veiny and darkened with deeply etched grease and dirt. He wore an old knitted vest and a faded shirt with missing buttons, rolled up to his elbows. His trousers were patched on the knees, his boots were scuffed, and one heel seemed to be on the verge of peeling off. Frowning, Thor glanced down at his own boots.

“Mother said our family was wealthy,” Marian pressed, leaning against the bread oven. “So you really can’t help us?”

Gamlen gave a short, drunken laugh as he waved at the kitchen. “What more help do you need? You seem settled in nicely!”

“Loki and Thor have been kind to let us stay, Uncle,” Bethany spoke up from where she sat across Gamlen, her eyes never leaving the teacup she had wrapped her hands around. “For the time being. We can’t remain here indefinitely.”

Thor shrugged. “It’s not a burden, Beth.”

“I still can’t believe you sold the estate.” Leandra shook her head. “Gamlen, how could you?”

“Well, I didn’t expect your blasted family to show up on my doorstep, so to speak! To be brutally dragged from a most enjoyable establishment. The Blight, the Ragnar thing, your husband dead… I’d figured you’d pretty much be Fereldan for life. Speaking of which, I thought you had three kids?”

Leandra choked down a sob, and Marian glared daggers at her uncle. Bethany bit her lip.

“Carver died, valiantly protecting his family from darkspawn,” Thor said. “He is sorely missed.”

“Oh. Well, accept my condolences... Was he magic too, or a normal lad?”

Leandra gasped. Marian cuffed her uncle on the head, earning another gasp from Leandra, and Bethany simply stood up and left for her room.

Thor fought the urge to run his hands over his face.

Where was Loki when he needed him?

 

***

“A manifesto?”

Loki ran his fingertips over the parchment on the healer's desk, covered with neat lines of bulleted arguments concerning mage rights and interpretations of the Andrastian faith.

Reclining in his simple chair, Anders nodded, a smile tugging up one corner of his mouth.

They were in his clinic in Darktown, where Athenril had asked Loki to deliver the reward for the healer’s efforts. It turned out Anders lived there too, in a small room at the back; with a narrow bed and a small writing desk with a chair and a lantern, a few shelves and simple hooks on the wall. It was the absolute, bare minimum, and Loki itched to find out more, to discover what made an established healer, apostate or not, to have so few belongings.

“So what are your points?” he asked. Anders waved him to sit on the cot, and Loki complied, pushing the pillow behind his back and stretching his long legs towards the other man. In the warm candle light the healer's golden-brown eyes sparkled with purpose and intelligence.

“First,” he started, smiling, “magic is the gift of the Maker. There is nothing that exists out of His reach, at least according to the Chantry. So if He still grants this talent to His children, then surely He does not hate it?”

“And you’re content with old, dusty books and wrinkled crones telling you what to think?” Loki challenged him with a crooked grin.

Anders laughed. “It doesn't matter what I think. It’s the Chantry I need to convince. I’m just pointing out holes in their own reasoning.”

“Sensible approach. What about the pride of magisters darkening the Golden City?”

The healer grinned at him. “You seem to have given this some thought, Loki. Tell me, what do _you_ think?”

The Asgardian swallowed thickly. After everything he’d been through, his mind was his inner sanctum, and he could count on one hand the occasions when he’d forced himself to share the details of his reasoning at least with Thor. Not that his brother ever appreciated or even understood the shades and nuances of Loki’s words.

But he liked the way the healer had said his name. Really, really liked it. Breathing in that blessed sense of _cleanliness_ that permeated Anders’ quarters just as much as the clinic proper, Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I think locking mages up in the Circles is a waste of talent and resources,” he said. “Yes, magic can be dangerous. But so can any warrior with a big sword and a bigger ego; an assassin; a clumsy cook. It makes little sense to corral mages in one place and to assign ridiculous amounts of Chantry resources to maintaining this whole system.”

The healer’s smile spread wider, and he leaned forward in his chair too.

“Looks like we’re on the same page.”

Loki smiled tightly, the memory of Arbor Wilds and Ragnarok sitting heavy and cold like a stone in the pit of his stomach breaking the warmth of the moment. He was not the best mouthpiece for mage freedom. He was, in fact, the perfect illustration for the dangers of magic. Ironically, his freedom was one of the things he had fought for the most viciously.

He noticed he had been unconsciously tracing his vambrace, remembering the long-healed gash on his forearm. The price of his blood magic.

“I have to go,” he said, getting up and straightening his black and green armoured coat.  He avoided the healer’s gaze as he picked up his staff again and turned to go, at the last moment caught by a hasty “Wait!”

With another of his easy smiles, Anders pressed a copy of his manifesto in his hand, warm fingertips brushing against Loki’s palm.

“Read it. I’ll be looking forward to more discussions.”

Loki nodded, all the reasons why it was a bad idea flashing before his eyes.

He took the manifesto anyway.

 

***

Thor rolled his eyes as he tried to tune out the conversation behind his back.

“I still can’t believe you want to move in with that… Gamlen,” Loki pestered Leandra for what seemed the hundredth time since they had found her brother a few days ago. Thor hefted the satchel of their purchases higher up his shoulder and continued pushing through the crowd in front of them at the Lowtown street market.

“It is better this way, Loki,” Leandra patiently explained. “I can share with Gamlen, and the girls can have their own room. I would hate to continue imposing on you and Thor.”

“You’re not imposing.” Loki sounded at the end of his patience. “You’re _welcome_. All of you. We’re happy to have you. Thor, tell her it’s a bad idea to move in with Gamlen.”

“You and your daughters  _are_ welcome, Lady Leandra,” Thor said over his shoulder. They had had this discussion for several times already. “Sharing a room with Loki is a small price for the wonderful meals you make.” He smiled. “The whole house feels different, with your touch. We’re not eager to let you go, Lady Leandra.”

Leandra heaved a heavy sigh and pointed to a stall across the street. “Those look like decent bedsheets over there. We’ll need some at Gamlen’s.”

Relieved that the unproductive conversation was over, Thor turned sharply, changing his course through the throngs of people. Leandra’s exclamation of dismay and Loki’s deadpan "Wonderful!" made him stop and turn again.

“Excuse my brother, he is an oaf,” Loki told the small woman Thor had inadvertently knocked down with his satchel, making her spill a bundle of herbs on the muddy street. Leandra was kneeling in front of her, asking if she was injured, apologizing for the accident and trying to salvage some of her wares.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” the woman muttered, gracing Leandra with a small smile. She pushed her brown hair back from her face, revealing pointy ears and an unmistakably elven profile, and Leandra stood up in a huff, brushing her dusty hands on her apron. Loki paused for a moment, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides, and then he cast a simple spell to at least discourage people from pressing in on their little group, his casual use of magic earning him a pointed glare from Leandra.

“It’s alright, I should have been more attentive,” the elf assured them, her voice as earthy and velvety as Thor remembered it. She glanced with regret at her trampled herbs and stood, her head barely reaching Thor’s shoulder.

She nodded at Loki and Leandra. “I thank you for your kind assistance and concern.”

This whole time Thor had stood petrified.

“You,” he finally managed, when she had dusted herself off and already turned to leave. “From Denerim alienage.” He swallowed thickly. “Jane Foster.”

The elf’s thin eyebrows drew into a frown, and then her whole face brightened into a happy, friendly smile.

“Well! Good to see you too, Thor of Asgard.”

 


	5. Story Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for a rape mention in the second part

"You know each other."

The entire early autumn day had acquired new colours and smells for Thor. The abundance of fruits and vegetables in the merchants' stalls was telling the story of a rich harvest in the Free Marches, of well-travelled roads to Rivain and Antiva, of caravans and ships from Orlais and Nevarra.

"Who is she? Is she from Denerim?"

The whole world north of the Waking Sea was yet untouched by the Blight, feeling once more like a promise of a fresh start. And his elven friend had been living safely in Kirkwall alienage for almost a year! Maker, it had never occurred to him that she might have moved elsewhere. Then again, she had always dreamt of the great wide yonder...

"When did you go there? Thor!"

Ah, his irritable, brooding brother was being his old, curious self, for a change.

“Yes, Loki?”

“I just asked you a few questions, brother. Shall I repeat?”

A stupid grin threatened to overwhelm Thor's face entirely.

“Shortly after you left, Teyrn Odin banished your brother,” Leandra offered instead, finally done with her purchases and ready to go home with the brothers. “For a while. We heard he went to Denerim, but I’m afraid I don’t know much more than that.”

“Banished? What did the… What could _Thor_ do to get banished?”

“I was stupid and proud,” Thor said with a bright smile, hefting the satchel higher on his shoulder once more as they walked. Loki cast him an incredulous glance.

“I admit it freely.” Thor shrugged. “We heard rumour that Arl of Redcliffe had been behind the bandit attack that killed a caravan bringing some goods for Mother. I took it as an attack on Asgard, and together with the Warriors Three, we managed to assault Arl Eamon during one of his hunting trips.”

“The Arl of Redcliffe? Maker, how _stupid_ can you be to assault one of the most influential nobles of Ferelden?”

“Don't worry, he survived. Yours is a sad attempt in comparison to the tongue-lashing I got from Father.” Thor grinned at the exasperated Loki, while Leandra was listening with the piqued interest of a born noblewoman.

Thor didn’t want to continue the tale in her presence, and he’d be lying if he said the memory was not still painful. Being called a vain, greedy, cruel boy. Being accused — and rightly so — of arrogance and stupidity, being found unworthy by his own father. Denerim had brought him down a notch, and soon enough his father had forgiven him, accepted him back home. But Loki was gone, and Thor could never stop wondering if he had really changed enough to earn his father’s forgiveness, or if his parents simply couldn’t bear the loss of both their children, adopted or not.

The joy from meeting Jane (and an invitation to come visit her!) slowly dissolved as the memories of his parents resurfaced once more, and with them the acute loss of Asgard and the sense of his own uselessness.

They entered their hovel, both Hawke girls out for work, and helped Leandra collect the few belongings their family had. Thor and Loki carried their mattresses to Gamlen’s house a few hexes over, and then helped Leandra with the rest. Marian and Bethany knew to go to Gamlen’s once they were finished with Meeran’s tasks.

They were done before nightfall, Loki moving his things back to his own room. The house felt strangely empty and quiet. The scent of freshly baked bread Thor had already grown used to was barely felt in the air after all the comings and goings, doors often left ajar during the day.

But his brother was there in the kitchen, sending a lazy fireball into the accurately stacked pile of wood in the fireplace. Thor rolled his eyes when Loki put on the table two cups and a bottle of dark red Antivan wine they definitely hadn’t purchased in the market today.

“Sit,” the mage said, not unkindly, and Thor had to admit he hadn’t heard that tone in Loki’s voice for years. “So tell me about Denerim and this Jane woman.”

 

***

Soon enough, Loki came to the conclusion that this whole brotherly talk idea was bloody awkward. But the wine seemed to help. Thor stared into his cup as he spoke, words of heart and mind unwieldy on a tongue more used to unbridled laughter and taunts. Loki had guessed half of it before Thor even finished a quarter of his story, but he forced himself to listen patiently.

“Nobody knew me in Denerim,” Thor remembered wistfully. “I felt… free. But also… You were gone, Loki, Maker knows where or why, and my own father had cast me out. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“I’d have told you you’re being a maudlin fool,” Loki drawled. Thor flashed him a crooked grin and then poured himself another cup of wine. His hands looked ridiculously large around the earthenware mug they hugged. The image of Bethany came unbidden to Loki’s mind — she used to hug her cups too — and he smirked at his own sentiment. He was already missing his little not-sister.

“Luckily, the norns nudged me in the right direction,” Thor continued. “I found myself in a tavern near the alienage when a fire alarm was sounded. It was… some kind of a golem, made of steel plates. The owner had evidently lost control of it. It was equipped with some kind of… fire throwers or something.”

Loki chuckled. “Don’t bother with the technical details.”

“I _can_ understand technology, you know,” Thor protested.

“At a rate three times slower than average. Alternatively, you just smash things until they start working the way you want.”

“Hey!”

“Alright, alright. Do continue.”

“Well, there’s nothing much to say after that. The fire golem was destroying buildings in the alienage. The city guard was watching from the walls, laughing and making bets. There were no Warriors Three to help me, no one to follow me except Jane, this slip of a woman who wanted desperately to save her research notes and books from the fire.”

“I’ve never heard of an elven researcher. What is she studying?”

“I… Metaphysics of magic? Cardinal rules? Something like that. She’s not a mage though.”

“And still she’s studying magic? Interesting.”

“Either way, I managed to destroy the golem, with Mjolnir. Saved a few lives too. And her research.”

“And that’s it?” Loki wondered. “From the way you were looking at her today, I thought at least a few kisses had been exchanged.”

Thor shook his head in confusion. “We were just friends for a while. She visited me in the prison. Before I went back to Asgard.”

“You’re the golden hero that saved the day, how in the void did you end up in prison?”

Thor chuckled. “I _had_ destroyed valuable property of some city noble who liked to tamper with technology in his free time, and the prison master pretended to not believe me when I said I'm the son of Odin of Asgard. I spent some ten weeks behind bars. Jane brought me poptarts — it’s a kind of pastry they have in Denerim. We talked a lot, about Asgard and various customs and traditions, about history and faraway lands. I suppose the prison mellowed me out a bit.”

“I _had_ been wondering what miracle during my absence has made you so tolerable.” Sometimes Loki just couldn’t hold his tongue, but Thor didn’t seem to take offence.

Loki regarded him for a long moment. Something in the whole story didn’t add up, but it was possible that Thor himself hadn’t realized it.

“Why only friends?” he finally asked. “She’s comely enough.”

His brother frowned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the right words, probably trying to fumble his way around something that might offend Loki. The mage rolled his eyes.

“Just spit it out.”

Thor swallowed. “Well, she’s an elf.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, it never occurred to me to think of her in any different light! I’m a human and she’s an elf, and that's it. I don’t remember seeing any mixed couples in Asgard. It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

Loki clasped his forearms as he leaned on the table, eyes following the grain of the wood. Fascinating, how Thor’s mind worked sometimes. Or didn’t. Well, he could appreciate some brutal honesty at least.

“So elves are not real persons to you?”

Thor groaned and ran his hands through his messy blond locks. “I knew I was going to regret this talk.”

“Just tell me.”

“I don’t know, alright? I honestly have never thought about it. Not until you just said I’m looking at her in some… certain way. Even when you told me about your parentage, which was barely three months ago, it just never really clicked. You look fully human.”

Loki sighed as he glanced out of the window, the darkness outside forming a blurry reflection of him on the pane. Black hair, green eyes, sharp features. He didn’t look really Asgardian, but nothing betrayed his half-breed origin either. Growing up in Asgard, with its mere handful of elves, and the lies Odin and Frigga had told them had done a disservice to them both.

It was a while before Loki broke the silence again.

“Before I left Asgard, I discovered something else. I found out exactly who my parents were.”

“Who?” Thor asked quietly.

“Bann Laufey of White River and a servant girl Farbauti.” Loki flicked his eyes up at Thor and held his gaze. “He raped her, and then cast her out when she told him she was pregnant.”

Thor swallowed. Then he reached over and refilled Loki’s cup.

“How did you know?”

“From a tavern hand a bit outside of Lothering. I had escaped there to try and make some sense of everything... to lick my wounds after Odin let it slip during that fight that I was adopted. The poor sod had known Farbauti. Apparently, I take after my mother in looks. She died of some fever not long after she gave me up. I was passed through some hands before I ended up in Lothering, but I think Odin knew I’m the half-breed heir of White River. I don't know if Mother knew.”

“I… don’t know what to say.”

Loki took a deep breath, wrapping his battered heart in the shadows once more, gathering his masks and razor sharp smiles back in place. He knocked back the last of his wine and stood up. This had been enough truth and brotherly bonding for the day.

“I killed Laufey before I left Asgard for good,” he said. “I hear his widow does a decent job in his stead.”

“And now that you know what happens to elven girls in human settlements… Unless you’re dead serious about her, my dear brother, stay away from this Jane if you know what’s good for you.”


End file.
